


feet first, don't fall

by astrolesbian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Eponine is Gavroche's Legal Guardian, F/F, Fake Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrolesbian/pseuds/astrolesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette told her father she was dating someone. Which is apparently where Éponine comes in.</p>
<p>And Éponine can't say no where Cosette is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feet first, don't fall

**Author's Note:**

> this is for torin, sorry it's so late, and i hope it doesn't suck <3

In retrospect, Éponine should have suspected that something was up with Cosette the moment that Cosette starting blinking those big brown eyes of hers, but she’d been too distracted at the time by Cosette’s big brown eyes to do much about it. 

 

“Hi, Éponine,” Cosette said. “You look nice today, do you want to share my brownie, I might have accidentally told Papa I have a girlfriend and now I need someone to come home with me for Christmas, could you come?”

 

“Repeat that last part,” Éponine said dubiously, taking a bite of Cosette’s brownie.

 

Cosette sighed, puffing out her cheeks. “Papa thinks I have a girlfriend and so I have to bring someone home for Christmas,” she said glumly. “Only no one will do it. Chetta is with her boys for Christmas, and frankly it would be uncomfortable with someone who’s already in a relationship, Floreal said she would have done it but she’s making sure R doesn’t twist an ankle during the Nutcracker, not that he actually  _ will _ but, well, and Bahorel’s girlfriend said it sounded like fun but she was going home to California for Christmas.”

 

“So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend, in front of your father, who can always tell when you’re lying,” Éponine summarized. She hoped her voice didn’t betray how fast her heart was beating.

 

Cosette sighed again. “Well,” she said. “When you put it like that.” She moved as if she was going to stand and walk away, but Éponine held up a hand, feeling as if she was digging her own grave by doing it. But then again, it wasn’t every day that the girl you had a huge crush on asked you to be her pretend girlfriend. And any excuse to be around Cosette was a good one, as far as Éponine was concerned.

 

“Sure,” she said. “Sounds fun. I’ll have to bring Gav, though. No way am I sending him home with Maman.”

 

“Of course,” Cosette said, very quickly. “Thank you thank you thank you, don’t worry about anything, I’ll pay for your train tickets and all that, Papa will love you both, thank you I love you I have to get to class bye!”

 

Éponine blinked, and it took a minute for her to re-gather her thoughts after the casually dropped “I love you,” but eventually she managed to call out “See you soon” to Cosette’s retreating back.

 

“Bye!” Cosette yelled, and dashed out the dorm’s door. Éponine collapsed back into the couch. 

 

She tried not to hyperventilate, but at that point it sort of seemed like a lost cause.

 

 

“So is she trying to say something, do you think?” Éponine said, pacing around the room. “Like, is she trying to make a point? Does she want me to make the next move? I mean, she’s so sweet about all this garbage and she hugs me all the time but I have no idea what that means? She hugs everyone? She hugs  _ you. _ So it probably doesn’t mean anything. I’m probably just convenient. I guess I kind of know that but she looked so  _ cute _ when she asked me I just said yes, oh God, I’m acting like an idiot --”

 

Grantaire watched her pacing from his place, stretching, on the floor. “I miss the days when I filled the apartment with my drama at two in the morning,” he said. “That way, if I fell asleep at practice, I had only myself to blame.”

 

“I’ve dealt with your shit for three years,” Éponine said, kicking him in the leg. “Now you sit and look concerned and listen to mine.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire said. “I’m being a dick. I do actually care. Lay it on me.” His seriousness was slightly offset by the way he was bent over one leg, twisting his neck to look up at her, but it was genuine enough, and Éponine took it.

 

“Okay,” Éponine said, and began to pace again. “She seemed serious, but --”

 

 

“Hi, Gav!” Cosette said cheerfully. Gavroche just grunted and burrowed deeper into Éponine’s infinity scarf, which he had stolen as they were leaving the apartment. He had been briefed on the whole “Éponine and Cosette are pretending to date” thing, but Éponine wasn’t convinced he’d retained any of the information, since he kept dozing off halfway through her explanations. 

 

“Hi,” Éponine said, trying to act as if her stomach wasn’t in complete knots. Cosette beamed back at her. 

 

“Thank you so much for doing this,” she said, and the relief was so evident in her voice that Éponine felt sort of ashamed for thinking that Cosette had any kind of ulterior motives. Or romantically related motives. 

 

“Sure,” she said. “No problem. It’s better than going home.” She fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other. Awkwardness hung in the air, though she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or not. “And, um, it’ll be nice to see your dad, I guess.”

 

She’d only met Cosette’s dad once, last spring break. He seemed like a nice person and all, but Éponine was practically hard-wired to not trust tall, intimidating men. 

 

She didn’t know why she’d said it would be nice to see him. 

 

Gavroche snorted under the miles of her scarf and hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Hi, ‘sette.” 

 

“Hi again,” Cosette said, and she just looked amused, thank god, rather than annoyed. Annoyed was the usual reaction with Gavroche, mostly because he was eleven and they were poor as shit and it was the natural eleven-year-old-kid reaction to act like a brat in response to that. Cosette didn’t seem to mind him, though, and as a result he tolerated her more than he tolerated anyone besides Grantaire and Jehan. 

 

“You seem sleepy,” Cosette added, ruffling his hair.

 

Gavroche yawned as an answer. “I was up late.”

 

“You’re  _ supposed _ to be in bed by ten,” Éponine grumbled.

 

“ _ You’re _ never in bed by ten.”

 

“I’m twenty-two. You’re  _ eleven _ .”

 

“You’re a  _ jerk, _ and I’m  _ great. _ ”

 

“Guys,” Cosette interrupted, and Éponine felt herself blush. But Cosette was smiling, covering her mouth with one hand. “We have to catch the train.”

 

“Sorry,” Éponine found herself saying, and Cosette just smiled and shook her head. 

 

“It’s okay,” she said. “You guys are really cute. I never had siblings.”

 

“The novelty wears off,” Éponine said. Gavroche kicked her in the leg.

 

Cosette laughed again. “I guess it would,” she agreed. “I don’t know. I was really lonely as a kid, I always wished I could have a sister or brother. I don’t really remember what everything was like before Papa adopted me, and after that we were moving around so much.”

 

“You moved?”

 

“Yeah. Papa’s really big on volunteer work; we were always moving to places where there had been some big crisis or problem. We’d stay for a couple weeks and volunteer, and then we’d go to the next place. I pretty much grew up in soup kitchens.”

 

Gavroche looked like he was actually listening, which in of itself was a miracle. “We went to soup kitchens a lot too.”

 

“Yeah,” Cosette said. “Your sister told me about that, a while ago.”

 

“It was okay,” he said. “The food wasn’t that great. You guys should work on that.” He stuck his face back into the scarf, in an attempt to end the conversation. 

 

“I’ll tell Papa,” Cosette said. “He runs one now. He’ll probably want us to go down for Christmas dinner.” She looked, suddenly, apologetic. “Um, I hope you guys are okay with that?”

 

“You’re feeding us for three days and keeping us away from Maman,” Éponine said. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

 

Cosette blinked, and suddenly looked very upset. Éponine realized that she had somehow opened her mouth and inserted her foot without realizing exactly what she’d said, but before she could say anything to apologize, Cosette was smiling again, pulling her suitcase behind her as she walked. 

 

“Train’s here,” she said, and hitched her suitcase up behind her. “We’d better find seats.”

 

“Do you need help with that, or?” Éponine asked, gesturing to the suitcase. She and Gavroche had just brought backpacks with a few days worth of clothes. It looked like Cosette was bringing enough to clothe an army.

 

“Help getting it into the overhead carrier would be nice,” Cosette said. “It’s all clothes from the Amis’s last clothing drive, Enj gives them to me to hand out at Papa’s shelter at Christmas because it’s the only shelter we’re closely affiliated with.”

 

Éponine mentally added another item to the list of  _ Perfect and Wonderful Things That Cosette Does,  _ and the sublist _ Absolute Proof Cosette Will Never Be Interested in Actually Dating Éponine, Ever, Because She Is Too Perfect and Wonderful and Éponine Is A Mess. _

 

“Sure,” was what she said out loud. “I can probably lift it.”

 

Gavroche mumbled something that sounded like swearing, which Éponine decided to ignore, since he was being pretty good this morning and she wasn’t about to start shit. He stuffed his face even farther, if that was possible, into the scarf, and stumbled onto the train.

 

He was asleep in his seat within minutes, which left Cosette and Éponine to get Cosette’s suitcase into the overhead carrier, and to sit there for two hours and talk. Or something.

 

 

“Okay, so would you rather . . . clean a dog that’s rolled around in its own shit, or be locked in a room that smells like skunk for twenty minutes.”

 

“That’s  _ gross, _ ” Éponine objected. Cosette shrugged delicately. 

 

“You said think of my best one,” she pointed out. 

 

“Okay, Jesus, um . . .” Éponine tapped her fingers on the armrest. “I guess the skunk. That’s just twenty minutes, and you don’t have to touch anything.”

 

“Yeah, I think I’d pick the skunk too.” 

 

Cosette was sprawled over the two seats across from Éponine’s, her legs stretched out on the second seat and her head against the window. Éponine was sitting straight up, Gavroche’s head on her lap. 

 

“So what am I supposed to do when we get there?” Éponine said. “Do I have to kiss you, or what?”

 

“Not unless you want to,” Cosette said, very seriously. “We’ll probably have to sleep in the same room, though. I have a double bed, though, so it’s not like there’s a ton of room . . . I can sleep on the floor if you want?”

 

“No, I don’t mind,” Éponine said. “Really. It’s just sleeping.” The opportunity to see Cosette sleepy or with adorable bedhead was too good to pass up. She wondered if that made her creepy. 

 

Probably.

 

“What about kissing? Or hugging, or holding hands? We can tell Papa you’re not great with touching and he’ll understand.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Éponine said, and shrugged. “Really. Kissing is just kissing, I never -- I never held much importance to it.” This, at least, wasn’t a lie. “Maybe just on the cheek. If it’s too much, I’ll let you know.”

 

Cosette held her eyes for a moment, sitting there across the way in the train, and then nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Promise me.”

 

“I promise,” Éponine said, and looked out the window. The world felt heavy around her after making a promise, it always did. She wasn’t a girl who made promises. That changed when Cosette was involved, it seemed. 

 

She racked her brain for something else, something lighter, and came up with another Would You Rather.

 

“Would you rather know what’s in the ocean, or what’s in space?”

 

“Space, for sure,” Cosette said, with a delicate shudder. “The ocean terrifies me.”

 

 

When they got to the station, Cosette’s father was waiting, looking incredibly excited, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. Éponine hovered behind Cosette as she ran to give him a hug, feeling awkward. Gavroche was now wide awake, looking very impatient, and still wearing her scarf.

 

“I want Burger King,” he told her. 

 

“Shut up,” she answered. “We’ll eat at Cosette’s.”

 

He kicked her in the leg again, as retaliation. 

 

“And you’re Éponine,” Cosette’s father said, turning to beam at her just as widely as he’d beamed at his daughter. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

 

Cosette walked around him and took Éponine’s arm, smiling. “I was infatuated,” she said lightly. “I wouldn’t shut up about you.”

 

“Were you?” Éponine asked, and realized that she was smiling, and her shoulders had relaxed the moment Cosette touched her. Of course Cosette would be able to calm her, just as she was able to do everything else. “That’s sweet.”

 

“Gross,” Gavroche said. “That’s my  _ sister. _ ”

 

“You don’t have to say that every time,” Cosette said. “I’ve been a good girlfriend so far, haven’t I?”

 

“You’ve been good,” Gavroche said. “Ep probably hasn’t.”

 

Éponine rolled her eyes. “No familial loyalty, not that I expected any.”

 

“Hey,” Cosette objected. “She’s been a wonderful girlfriend.”

 

“Thanks, love,” Éponine said, and Cosette turned bright red. 

 

“Well,” she said, “you  _ have _ been,” and probably would have gone on assuring Éponine of her fake-girlfriend-adequacy if her father hadn’t laughed.

 

“It’s nice to see you both again,” he said. He had a big voice, a round voice that filed any space it was in. Several people in the train station turned to look at them, and Éponine shifted nervously.

 

She wasn’t nervous to meet him, exactly, because she’d already met him once or twice and he’d seemed perfectly nice, but now she was Cosette’s girlfriend, and that might be some cause for concern with a person who clearly wanted the best for his little girl. 

 

The best meaning, well, someone who didn’t have more issues than digits in her savings account.

 

But he was still smiling at her, which didn’t really make sense.

 

“This is Gavroche,” Éponine said, to fill the silence.

 

“Do you have Dragon Age?” Gavroche asked, and Valjean looked confused.

 

“I told you you’re not allowed to play that until you’re sixteen,” Éponine said. 

 

“But  _ he _ didn’t know that,” Gavroche complained. “Anyway, it’s  _ Christmas. _ ”

 

“Christmas isn’t code for  _ I can do whatever I want and Éponine isn’t gonna stop me, _ ” Éponine started, then realized both Valjean and Cosette were looking at them, and stuttered to a halt. She noticed Cosette was still holding her hand when she started moving her thumb soothingly over the back of Éponine’s palm.

 

She almost glanced at Cosette to make an expression with her eyebrows that would hopefully translate to  _ why are you still holding my hand _ when she, belatedly, remembered that this was going to be a common occurrence for the next few days. Because she and Cosette were dating.

 

Or fake dating. Whatever.

 

Cosette giggled, and then her father was laughing too, a big round laugh that matched his voice. “Come on,” he said, “I’m sure we can make an exception for the season.”

 

“That game has very bad language in it,” Éponine said. “And adult themes. Sir.”

 

Cosette giggled again, most likely at Éponine’s awkward attempt to be polite.

 

“I’m not good at being nice to adults,” Éponine mumbled, embarrassed, and Cosette squeezed her hand. 

 

“I know. It’s okay. Papa will understand.”

 

“Well, then, maybe we can find something else to give him,” Valjean was saying to Gavroche, and Gavroche’s eyes lit up.

 

“I like you,” he declared, and marched right up next to Valjean and stayed there the whole way to Valjean’s house, chattering about video games and what he liked to do and all kinds of other bullshit. Éponine shivered in the wind -- Gavroche  _ still _ hadn’t returned her scarf -- but at least Valjean wasn’t looking directly at her expecting answers anymore.

 

“I think we should have planned this out a little better,” Cosette said, and then pressed a soft kiss to Éponine’s cheek. It would have been comforting, but it was so unexpected that Éponine stiffened up, both in surprise and confusion.

 

“I’m sorry,” Cosette said, immediately.

 

“I was just surprised,” Éponine told her, her voice barely there. “Um.”

 

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have --”

 

“It’s okay,” Éponine said, and squeezed her hand, and cast around wildly for something to say that could change the subject. “I’m just -- I don’t know. Christmas was never my thing. This is the first time I’ve ever done something that’s not eating Chinese food and trying to pretend I don’t care that I didn’t get any presents or anything else like that. I was probably the worst person for you to invite, come to think of it.” She doesn’t mention her parents. Cosette doesn’t know much about her parents, and that’s how she’d like it to stay.

 

“Oh,” Cosette said, then, “ _ oh, _ ” seeming to understand somehow about Éponine’s parents and Christmas and all the bad things that usually came with it without Éponine having to say a word. “I hope this is a better Christmas for you.”

 

“I’ll try not to be too much of a Scrooge,” Éponine told her, and Cosette giggled a bit before looking at her in that wide-eyed, earnest way that made Éponine feel like Cosette was looking straight into her, almost through her.

 

“I mean it, though,” Cosette said. “I hope you have a good Christmas with Papa and I.”

 

“I think I will,” Éponine said, and was a little surprised to find she meant it.

 

Her heart pounded, and Cosette kept hold on her hand, and her previous years with her parents were feeling farther and farther away.

 

 

“It’s not much, obviously,” Cosette said, tugging Éponine this way and that through the apartment. “It’s just comfortable. Papa likes to give most of what he has away, expecially at Christmas, and we’re not having Christmas dinner or anything, but I have a few gifts for both of you!”

 

Oh, fuck, gifts. That was expected of a girlfriend, wasn’t it? A wonderful gift, something Cosette would love? Jesus, she didn’t even have a gift for Gavroche. They usually never bothered to exchange anything more than “Merry Christmas” and maybe split one of the ten-dollar boxes of chocolate you bought at the supermarket.

 

“Cosette,” Éponine said, uneasily, “I don’t have gifts for you or your father. I can’t -- we can’t afford gifts. Gav and I usually illegally watch movies at Christmas or go out for Chinese food with R.”

 

“Well,” Cosette said, “that’s easily fixed. And don’t worry, I don’t mind not getting a gift. Papa and I aren’t too big on that part anyway. It’s usually just one from me to him and one from him to me, and then we have breakfast and go on with our lives.”

 

“But I’m supposed to be your girlfriend,” Éponine said.

 

“If you don’t have the money, you don’t have the money,” Cosette said, waving a hand. “There’s nothing I can do about that, and it would be cruel to expect something that you can’t give. Believe me, Papa will understand.” She turned and faced Éponine, holding onto her shoulders, and grinned suddenly, soft and sweet and a little bit wicked. “Just give me a kiss for a gift, if you’re really so worried about it.”

 

She winked, and turned to walk up the stairs. “My room is up here,” she called, and Éponine steadied her suddenly racing heart and followed her.

 

 

They were having a fucking family dinner, because of  _ course _ Cosette was the kind of person who had fucking family dinners with, like, chicken and real food and shit, and Éponine was sitting there in her four-year-old sneakers and her Beyonce t-shirt and silently freaking out.

 

Cosette could tell. Somehow, Cosette was always able to tell; even before all this, Cosette had had a sixth sense for Éponine’s nervousness or worry or the insanely annoying pinching, anxious feeling when she would open her phone and find a missed call from her mother. Cosette would notice, and she would sit next to Éponine and put a soft hand on her shoulder or around her waist, and Éponine would find it a little bit easier to breathe. 

 

She wasn’t here yet, though, and the breathing was a little messy.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Gavroche said. “It’s not like they don’t like you.”

 

He was sitting across the table from her, resting his head on his arms. He looked tired. Then again, Gavroche pretty much always looked tired.

 

“It’s not that,” Éponine said. “Christmas is just.”

 

“You hate it,” Gavroche said.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Cosette really likes it, though.”

 

“That’s the problem.”

 

“So you do it for her,” Gavroche said. “It’s what you do. You do all kinds of shit for me all the time.”

 

“Gav --”

 

“You  _ do. _ ”

 

“It’s not like that,” Éponine said. “We’re not, like --”

 

“I know you’re not actually dating,” Gavroche said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not  _ stupid. _ But you really like her and you want to make her happy. So play along.” He paused to yawn. “This is gonna be way better than Christmas with Maman and Papa anyway, so I don’t know what you’re worrying about.”

 

“I’m not wor--” Éponine started, and then cut herself off. “Thanks, Gav.”

 

“You know me,” Gavroche said. “I’m the awesomest, smartest brother ever. When are they gonna get here? I wanna eat.”

 

“We’re right here, we’re right here,” Cosette said, laughing, sliding into the seat next to Éponine and taking her hand.

 

Éponine grinned involuntarily at the feeling of Cosette’s fingers in hers, and Gavroche raised his eyebrows at her, as if to say  _ there you go _ . 

 

 

Éponine laid her backpack on the floor next to Cosette’s suitcase and looked around the room.

 

“You have a cute room,” she said, and genuinely meant it. There was a shelf over the desk covered in a mix of comic books and stuffed animals, and there was a map of Paris taped to the wall, with several places circled in red pen. Éponine stepped closer to examine it.

 

“It’s important places,” Cosette said, and then busied herself with something on the desk, looking embarrassed. “You know. The Musain. School. My apartment. That kind of thing.”

 

“What’s that one?” Éponine asked, pointing to one of the ones she didn’t recognize, circled three times, more than the others.

 

Cosette blinked, and then went red. “It’s just,” she said. “A place I went to. Once.”

 

“There’s the museum where they hosted R’s photos for a week,” Éponine murmured, tracing from place to place. “And the cafe where Jehan made us all come to the poetry slam, do you remember that?”

 

“Of course,” Cosette said. “That’s why I circled it, so I would always remember. I’ve tried to write things down, and it doesn’t work. I lose the notebooks and then I lose the memories.” She seemed to forget to by shy about it, and flopped backwards onto her bed, gesturing at the map. “Those are things I want to keep forever. Even if we’re not all friends someday and I move away from France. I want to remember that we went to Jehan’s poetry slam and saw the photographs R took of us when we weren’t looking and how Courf tried to grow mint in the fire escape and everything that happened to me there.”

 

Éponine was silent, and hesitantly sat down on the empty space on the bed. 

 

“It’s just -- R told me once he takes pictures because he doesn’t want to forget,” she said, and waved her hands again, like the words were hovering in the air like butterflies for her to catch. “He doesn’t want to forget someday that Courf had freckles all over his shoulders and Jehan dyed their hair every other week and I knit when I’m nervous. And I feel that way, but I don’t know how to keep them.”

 

“It scares me,” Éponine said, and Cosette turned her head towards her. “That one day I might not know all of you.”

 

“It scares me, too,” Cosette said, softly. She reached out and took Éponine’s hand, squeezing it. And then, unexpectedly, she smiled. “We’re being such downers.”

 

Éponine grinned back. “I told you I was a Scrooge.”

 

“What made you so  _ bah humbug? _ ” Cosette asked. It was a flippant question, and Éponine wished she could answer it just as flippantly. But before she could make a joke, Cosette sat up, a flushed, upset look on her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m such a jerk. I forgot.”

 

Éponine squeezed her hand. “It’s okay.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Cosette said, the line of her mouth stubborn. “You don’t want to talk about it, and I keep bringing it up.”

 

She flopped back down on the bed and turned her body towards Éponine, curling up on her side and looking more upset than Éponine felt about the whole situation.

 

“I really don’t mind,” Éponine said, feeling almost amused. “I don’t want to talk about it, believe me, but I don’t mind. You care, that’s all. It’s no worse than R deliberately talking about anything else but Christmas.”

 

Cosette laughed, and looked a bit happier. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” she said.

 

“If it means anything,” Éponine said, “this is already the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

 

Cosette smiled, and it was sweet and blinding. “That’s good,” she said. 

 

“Come on,” Éponine said briskly, standing up. If they stayed like that, holding hands and talking and  _ leaning  _ into each other, she was going to kiss Cosette, and that wouldn’t be good. “Let’s get changed. I want to go to bed.”

 

“Okay,” Cosette said, “you can have the bathroom first to make up for talking about feelings.” 

 

Éponine whacked her with a pillow, and headed into the bathroom. 

 

 

Éponine woke up smelling mint, which wasn’t the weirdest thing you could smell at Christmas time, but didn’t make sense for so early in the morning.

 

She opened her eyes. Cosette was sleeping with her back to her, curled up into a ball like it was a comfortable way to sleep. Éponine had been pressed into her back, her arm around her waist.

 

She didn’t move for a second -- they’d somehow moved, in the night, to create this position, and it was comfortable and warm and Cosette smelled like mint, and for a second she wanted to pretend, so much it scared her. So she moved, and rolled onto her back. Cosette made a soft noise and pulled the covers up closer, sleeping on obliviously.

 

It wasn’t like she didn’t know Cosette was pretty, or didn’t know that she liked Cosette, or didn’t know that she wished the hand-holding and cheek kisses were coming along with being an actual couple. 

 

It was just -- she felt super guilty, not so much about doing it, but about how warm and right Cosette had felt in her arms, and how sincerely not okay that was. 

 

She scrubbed at her eyes and got out of bed. 

 

 

Jehan picked up on the first ring.

 

“Jehan,” Éponine said, “do you think Cosette likes me?”

 

“No  _ hello? _ ” Jehan asked. “No  _ how are you Jehan, I haven’t talked to you since before finals, how are your cacti doing? _ ”

 

“How  _ are _ your cacti doing?”

 

“Many are being renamed,” Jehan said. “I’m so sick of Keats after that poetry final I’ll never be able to look at him again. What did you ask about Cosette?”

 

Éponine explained the situation. Jehan sighed, and looked put-upon. 

 

“I thought we agreed after Enjolras and R got together that we would have no more dramatics,” they said. Éponine shrugged. 

 

“You’re a poet, you love dramatics.”

 

“I love R,” Jehan said. “That’s different from loving dramatics. The dramatics are an unfortunate side effect of being in R’s general proximity.”

 

“Do you think Cosette likes me or not?”

 

“I don’t  _ know, _ ” Jehan said, rudely. “You’ve got to figure that out for yourself. I’m not that kind of romantic.”

 

“Some help you are,” Éponine said.

 

“Call R about it,” Jehan said. “Perhaps he’ll know.”

 

 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know if Cosette likes you or not? You’re the one getting yourself into  _ situations _ and agreeing to fake date her. Christ. You say  _ I _ make bad life choices.”

 

“We’re not here to talk about my bad life choices,” Éponine said, and there was a loud popping noise. “Jesus Christ, what was that?”

 

“My knee,” Grantaire said. “Don’t worry, it’s back in place now.”

 

“You ought to go to a doctor,” Éponine said, alarmed.

 

“And tell them what? I’ve danced a lot this week in preparation for my troupe’s performance? You learn to live with the weird joint cracking. Anyway, back to you and Cosette.”

 

“Yes, back to that, please,” Éponine said, rubbing her forehead. “I just don’t know, and it’s bothering me. Usually I can tell.”

 

“Well, I can’t tell either,” Grantaire said. “Unfortunately casual touching is par for the course with most female-identifying people, since they don’t have to deal with hypermasculinity.”

 

“You sound like your boyfriend.”

 

“I know. I can’t manage to hate it, though. He just rubs off on you.”

 

Éponine rubbed her forehead again. “Do you have anything useful to contribute?”

 

“No,” he said cheerfully. “But Ep -- take a chance. The worst thing she can say is  _ I hate you and I’m never speaking to you again, _ and that just means you’re down someone who hates you.”

 

“That’s not encouraging.”

 

“I did try, though. I got halfway there.”

 

“Have a good Jewish Christmas.”

 

“Have a good real Christmas. Tell me how it goes. I might convert.”

 

“To Christianity?” Éponine said, alarmed.

 

“No, to opening presents and making cookies instead of having Chinese food,” Grantaire laughed. “I have to get back to practice now. Text me if you need anything.”

 

“Don’t pull anything,” Éponine said, just as Cosette’s father walked into the kitchen. “Or break anything. I don’t want to have to cut this short to go to the hospital.”

 

“Ye of little faith,” Grantaire said, and hung up. Éponine tried to smile at Cosette’s father, but she felt like the words  _ I slept in the same bed as your daughter _ were all over her forehead.

 

“Hello,” she said.

 

“I was going to make eggs,” he said. “Is that all right?”

 

“Yes,” Éponine said. “Do you need any help, or?”

 

“Can you cook?”

 

“No,” she admitted. “Not at all. Sometimes Courf or Jehan will cook for Gav and I but we mostly eat things that come in boxes.”

 

“Hmm,” Valjean said, and looked very hard at her, the way Cosette did.

 

“Sometimes I forget you’re not her biological dad, you guys look so alike sometimes,” Éponine said, and then blushed furiously. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that --”

 

He waved a hand. “It’s okay, Éponine.” He was smiling, and it was a nice smile -- similar enough to Cosette’s that it didn’t matter that it was coming from a man twice Éponine’s size. “You seem pretty nervous,” he added. “You don’t have to be. I like you, and my daughter certainly seems to like you.”

 

“It’s not really that,” Éponine said. “Sir.”

 

“Well, whatever it is, try not to worry about it,” he said. “It’s Christmas, and with the grace we have been given we can help others to get the warmth and food that we have in our homes.”

 

Éponine made an involuntary face. “You’re super religious, aren’t you.”

 

“Not at all,” he said mildly. “I haven’t been to church in years. I just believe in being a person that I would have wanted to meet when I was young.”

 

He went back to making eggs, and Éponine leaned against the fridge and thought about that.

 

“I think I would have wanted to meet you when I was a kid too,” she said, finally, and Valjean smiled at her.

 

“Go wake up my daughter,” he said, turning to the stove. “She’ll sleep past noon if we let her.”

 

Éponine smiled and tried to look as if she knew all about Cosette’s sleeping habits already, and walked up the stairs, passing Gavroche on his way down, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“We’re having eggs,” she told him. 

 

“Gross,” he said, but walked into the kitchen anyway.

 

 

“Cosette,” Éponine whispered, leaning over the girl-shaped pile of blankets in the middle of the bed and trying not to smile. “Wake up.”

 

“Mmhf,” Cosette said, and burrowed deeper into the bed. “Go away.”

 

“It’s ten in the morning,” Éponine said, shaking her shoulder. “Get up.”

 

“Mmmf,” Cosette said.

 

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” Éponine said, and sat down on the bed next to her. “I’m gonna count to three.”

 

“Stop it,” Cosette groaned. “You’re worse than an alarm clock.” She had turned around, though, and she was lying on her back, looking up at Éponine, smiling faintly. “Merry Christmas Eve, Ep.” 

 

Éponine’s throat tightened. She looked ethereal. 

 

“Come on,” she said, through her throat, standing. “Let’s go eat.”

 

“Aww,” Cosette complained, but she stood up, and followed Éponine down the stairs.

 

 

“I have to buy a present for Papa,” Cosette said later, and handed Éponine her coat. “Come with me.”

 

She glanced back at Gavroche, who was sprawled across the couch and deep in conversation with Valjean about Harry Potter. She suppressed a pang at how homey it looked. 

 

“Sure,” she said, and Cosette led her out into the snow.

 

Éponine decided to blame the cold if anyone asked why she’d leaned closer against Cosette’s side.

 

The town was pretty, but that might have just been the snow. It was certainly nothing like Paris, where there was something new on every corner. Cosette knew all the parts of it, from the one cafe on the main street to the secondhand shop a street down, and she showed all of it to Éponine, telling stories about the places as they passed them.

 

“I spent four years here,” Cosette explained. “Papa and I stopped moving so much once I got older. He started his shelter about then.” She smiled. “He’s been thinking about running for mayor, can you believe that?”

 

“I’d vote for him.”

 

“I would, too.” She pointed at a bookshop. “I used to spend hours in there. There was a girl who worked the register, I had the worst crush on her.”

 

Éponine laughed. Cosette laughed too, holding onto Éponine’s arm. 

 

“It seems so silly now,” she added, once they were finished laughing. “But at the time, this town was the world. I wanted to stay here forever, I thought it was so pretty and everyone was so nice. Now I can’t imagine being anywhere but Paris.” She paused, and glanced around. “It didn’t always seem so small.”

 

“You outgrew it,” Éponine said, quietly. “That’s all.”

 

“Do you think that means I’ll outgrow Paris someday?”

 

“I think some of us will,” Éponine said, truthfully, and Cosette rested her head briefly on her shoulder as they walked. “Someday. But some of us will stay. And I think we’ll all stay together, somehow. Even if it’s just with the group chat.” Cosette giggled.

 

“Can you imagine us growing up?” she said. Éponine shrugged.

 

“We are grown up.”

 

“More than we are, I mean.”

 

“I think I’m as grown up as I’m gonna get,” Éponine said.

 

“Maybe,” Cosette allowed. “But we’re gonna get older, and maybe some of us will have kids. Someday we’re not gonna be in college or working part-time jobs or organizing protests. We’re going to be doing something else.”

 

“Are you sad about it?”

 

Cosette smiled. “No,” she said. “I’m excited. Come on,” she added, tugging on Éponine’s arm. “We have to find that present.”

 

 

They collapsed back into the house covered in snow, and heard noises coming from the kitchen.

 

“Ep!” Gavroche was saying, his voice filled with more childish glee than she’d heard in months. “Come here!” 

 

“What’s up, buddy?” she asked, and he ran out of the kitchen wearing an apron covered in flour. 

 

“We made cookies,” he announced. “They kinda suck because I’m not good at decorating but they taste super good.”

 

“Wow,” Éponine said, and ruffled his hair. Gavroche squinted at Cosette, who was still holding onto Éponine’s arm, but said nothing besides another “come on” before vanishing back into the kitchen.

 

Cosette giggled. “Papa and Gav seem to be getting along,” she whispered, sliding her arm out of Éponine’s and taking her hand instead as they walked into the kitchen. 

 

There was a plate of messily frosted sugar snowmen and trees, and Cosette snatched one and bit into it.

 

“Oooh,” she said. “Papa, these are good!”

 

“Every year you sound more and more surprised,” Valjean said, and she giggled. 

 

“Come on, Ep,” Gavroche said, appearing at her elbow again. “Help me decorate them. You’ll be better at it.”

 

She looked at his bright grin for a second; registered how much more of a kid he looked like here, baking gingerbread men with Cosette’s dad. Thought, very briefly, about how their parents had taken this kind of smile from him.

 

“Okay,” she said, after he tugged on her elbow impatiently, snapping her out of it. “Show me.”

 

Cosette brushed a finger across her temple to pick up a piece of hair as they passed. Her eyes were soft, and Éponine wondered, all over again, how Cosette always knew when something had made her upset.

 

She smiled back, and Cosette sat back at the table, relaxing.  _ You’re okay? _ she mouthed, and Éponine nodded. 

 

It had only been a second, after all. And the here and now was Gavroche laughing and Cosette smiling and soft warm air that smelled like gingerbread and spice. It was hard to care.

 

Éponine supposed that was the spirit of Christmas, or some other bullshit.

 

 

Grantaire texted her as she and Cosette were going to sleep, and Cosette hooked her chin onto Éponine’s shoulder to read it.

 

_ hows the whole thing w cosette going ;)  _ __   
_ before u ask the performance went well + i got some good pics for the scenes i wasnt in _ _   
_ __ which is like, everything

_ lmao _

 

“Tell him we fell madly in love,” Cosette said sleepily. 

 

“Cosette, oh my God,” Éponine said, but she could feel herself giggling. 

 

_ cosette is cosette. i didnt get her an xmas gift do u think she’ll be pissed _ she typed instead.

 

Cosette giggled again, and then rolled over to go to sleep. “Don’t stay up too late,” she mumbled. “Tomorrow’s Christmas.”

 

Éponine nodded. Her eyes were already heavy.

 

_ no shes fuckin cosette she understands everything and everyone knows u guys dont have much to spare on dumb shit _

_ dont freak out over it _

 

_ im not freaking out _

_ idk i feel bad i know shes getting me something _

 

_ well thats why its called a gift dumbass _

_ ur not required to get one back esp if ur not rly dating her _

 

_ lmao goodnight r _

 

_ tell gav merry fuckin xmas from me _

 

Éponine smiled, and turned off her phone.

 

 

“ _ It’s Christmas,”  _ Gavroche was hollering, running through the upstairs. Éponine, rolling onto her back, knew he was just doing it to be a dick. He never expected presents; he’d stopped thinking Père Noël was going to stop by a long time ago. He didn’t even really like Christmas. He just wanted to wake everyone up, because he was eleven and something like that was funny to him.

 

Cosette, however, knew none of this.

 

“Ep,” she whispered, elbowing her in the side. This time it was Éponine’s turn to roll over and pull the blankets over her head. “Ep, get up, your brother is awake.”

 

Éponine considered saying he was just doing it to be a dick, but figured that a) Cosette wouldn’t believe her and b) it would make her seem like a Grinch.

 

It was weird that there were such specific words for not liking Christmas.

 

Anyway. 

 

“Five more minutes,” she mumbled, and Cosette shook her harder. 

 

“No! Oh my God! It’s Christmas!”

 

“Jesus won’t mind if I sleep in,” Éponine said into her pillow. Cosette somehow deciphered it.

 

“Okay, maybe not, but your brother will pass out from excitement,” she pointed out, and that was so far from reality it was scary. Éponine rolled over to give Cosette a dirty look, but rolling was as far as she got, because Cosette’s hair was all messy and she was smiling and she looked really, really beautiful. What was it about sleeping that made Cosette look so pretty? No one else was pretty after sleeping.

 

Damn it.

 

“Okay, I’m up,” Éponine muttered, and rolled out of bed.

 

Cosette blinked.

 

“That was easier than I thought,” she said, and stood up as well. “Gav, we did it!”

 

Éponine’s eyes widened.

 

“You -- what?”

 

“She’s up?” Gavroche asked, leaning against the doorway in a very casual manner.

 

“Yep!” Cosette said, and gave him a high five. “Thanks for your help!”

 

“No problem,” he said. “Wanna do your dad next?”

 

“Oh, no, he gets up early to make breakfast usually,” Cosette said innocently, tugging a sweatshirt on over her pyjamas. “We only had to wake up Ep.”

 

“I can’t believe this,” Éponine said. Cosette patted her cheek.

 

“Sorry,” she said. She didn’t sound sorry. 

 

“Last one to the kitchen has to do the dishes,” Gavroche said, and ran down the stairs. Cosette giggled and raced after him. Éponine looked at the bed, and considered crawling back into it.

 

“And  _ don’t _ go back to sleep,” Cosette yelled up the stairs.

 

Éponine scowled. Fuck Cosette and her beautiful smile and how cute she was with Gav. 

 

She took another second to be annoyed before grabbing a sweatshirt of her own and heading downstairs. 

 

 

“Don’t be sad,” Cosette said. “We’re having Christmas Pancakes.”

 

_ God,  _ Éponine thought,  _ that’s adorable. _

 

Then she checked herself, because she was still mad at Cosette for waking her up with a dirty trick.

 

Cosette, who was squirting whipped cream on her pancakes and arranging strawberries so that they formed Père Noël’s hat and beard. 

 

Cosette, who, somewhere along the line, had changed into a onesie with a hood and a cat pattern. The hood was up. She had cat ears.

 

_ She’s not cute,  _ Éponine thought desperately, but it was a losing battle.

 

“Want some?” Cosette offered, holding out her plate, covered in whipped cream and strawberries, and Éponine shook her head.

 

“You know I don’t like whipped cream.” 

 

Cosette frowned. “Ugh, I know. It’s weird.”

 

“Offering me things with whipped cream in them isn’t going to change my reaction when you do,” Éponine said, and located syrup and bananas to put on her own pancakes. Valjean, from the stove, chuckled. 

 

“She’s the same way with me,” he said, confidentially. “I don’t like chocolate.”

 

“That’s weird,” Gavroche said, and pointedly drizzles chocolate syrup over his pancakes. Cosette high fives him.

 

“Have some fruit with that, Gav,” Éponine said. Gavroche gasps. 

 

“You can’t make me be  _ healthy, _ ” he said, like it’s a dirty word. “It’s  _ Christmas. _ ”

 

“Have strawberries,” Cosette suggested. “They go well with chocolate.”

 

Gavroche wrinkled his nose, poured some more chocolate on his pancakes, and dug in.

 

 

“Presents!” he was saying, thirty minutes later, and Éponine regretted the chocolate, because an excited Gavroche was one thing normally and quite another when he’d had some sugar. 

 

_ I’m sorry, _ Cosette mouthed at her. Éponine shrugged and sat down next to her on the couch. Gavroche was examining every single thing under the tree, even though there were only, like, seven presents.

 

“Mine first,” Valjean said, and Gavroche leaped to his feet. 

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, and ran up the stairs. They all blinked at each other in confusion until he returned, carrying two clumsily wrapped things and one gift bag in his arms. He deposited the gift bag in Valjean’s lap, and handed the larger of the packages to Éponine, the smaller to Cosette. 

 

Éponine stared at it, her throat tight.

 

“Well,” Gavroche said, impatiently. “Open it, Ep.”

 

Her vision blurred. “I didn’t get you anything,” she said, feeling all the while like a disappointment, a horrible sister. He got her something, wrapped it and everything. And she got him nothing.

 

“Don’t be dumb,” Gavroche said. “You pay for all my food and clothes and those Barbies and the plastic monster truck and the space shuttle and my books and all that other sh -- I mean, crap. You get me stuff all the time. So I got this for you.”

 

Cosette reached out and linked her fingers with Éponine’s, squeezing gently. 

 

There were two things in the package. One was a pair of fuzzy socks with black and purple stripes that Gavroche waved aside -- “I just got those because you always complain about how cold it is in our apartment” -- and the second was a thick binder that Éponine pulled out of the paper with trembling hands.

 

“It’s from everyone, kind of,” Gavroche said, sounding embarrassed. “I mean, it was my idea. But you have a hard time sometimes with money and stuff and I know you feel bad and I didn’t want you do because you’re doing a really good job mostly.”

 

She recognized Grantaire’s handwriting on the cover.  _ Stuff For When Éponine Doesn’t Know How To Adult. (Not That Any Of The Rest Of Us Know.) _

 

She turned the pages, marvelling. Each member of the Amis has added a page. Grantaire’s talked predictably about how no one ever fucking knows what they’re doing so she shouldn’t worry about it, Feuilly’s talked about coupon collecting but how you really know you’re getting the most for your coupons and getting sleep when you need it, Musichetta added a lovely one with about six different recipes she can make that will involve pretty much zero effort, Joly wrote about the proper way to fix cuts and bruises without having to go to the doctor (and when to, you know, actually go to the hospital). It was like a self-help book you’d find in the vestiges of Tumblr, but catering specifically to Éponine. 

 

Cosette had a page, too; all in pastel with  _ and if you ever need a break, come over. We can just do nothing for a little while.  _ There were pictures of the two of them, sometimes joined by Musichetta, watching movies and walking through Paris together. 

 

The last one was Gavroche’s. 

 

_ Sorry if I act like a brat sometimes, _ he wrote, accompanying it with a picture of him grinning toothily.  _ I like you way better than Maman. You’re good at this.  _

 

She sniffed and wiped at her nose. “Gav,” she said, but then couldn’t say anything.

 

He beamed. “Do you like it?”

 

She nodded. “I love you,” she said. The words tasted like pancakes. She never tells Gav she loves him in words these days, it’s too easy for him to shrug her off. But this time, he smiled and crawled up next to her on the couch like he’s five, and it’s okay. 

 

Cosette was wiping at her eyes, too, but giggled weakly and opened her own gift, which was a tiny little notebook with  _ Bee Organized! _ and a bee buzzing around a flower. Cosette giggled again and hugged it to her chest. “Thanks, Gav!”

 

Valjean uncovered a plastic bag containing several different bags of tea, with weird flavors like  _ Midnight Serenade  _ or  _ Bull’s-Eye. _

 

“I got them from the shop on the train,” Gavroche said. 

 

Valjean examined a bag of tea claiming to be  _ Mint Cabbage. _ He smiled. “Thank you.”

 

“Whatever,” Gavroche said, leaning closer into Éponine’s side. “Keep opening stuff.”

 

“Papa, here’s mine,” Cosette said. She’s knitted him a scarf that goes with the hat she bought yesterday. He pulled the hat on without saying a word, and dug out two gifts for her. They’re things you might expect adults to buy each other -- a jewelry stand shaped like a tree and a book -- but Cosette seemed glad anyway, hugging her father tightly before digging under the tree to pull out another box. 

 

“Here,” she said, “this is to the two of you from Papa,” and Éponine suddenly wanted to cry again.”

 

She opened it to reveal the cookie cutters from yesterday, along with a recipe for gingerbread. Valjean cleared his throat. 

 

“So long as you bring it back next year and let me borrow it for a little while,” he said, like he expected they’d still be around next year to let him.

 

Gavroche beamed. “Cool!”

 

Éponine cleared her throat, but even so, her voice is raspy. “Cool,” she echoed, then, remembering her manners, “thank you.”

 

Cosette squeezed her hand and tugged the last gifts out from under the tree. “Here, Gav,” she said, and handed him one, then, softer, “here, Ep,” handing her the second. 

 

Gavroche ripped the paper off and yelped in delight to find a size large Star Wars hoodie and a hat knitted to look like R2-D2. “Cool!!”

 

Éponine stared at the gift in her lap, and then looked back at Cosette.

 

Cosette smiled at her. “Merry Christmas.”

 

“I love you,” Éponine said, and means it. She hoped Cosette knew -- maybe not on the surface -- but deep down. She hoped Cosette knew Éponine loved her. Friend, girlfriend, anything. 

 

Cosette went red, but smiled even wider. “Open it.”

 

Cosette had knitted her something too, a black scarf so thick and warm Éponine suspected she could use it as a coat. But that wasn’t the big deal. The big deal was that Cosette was here, and Éponine was here with her, and Cosette got Gavroche a present, and Valjean acted like this was going to happen again and again, year after year. 

 

"Hey," she said, "I still have to give you your present."

 

Cosette turned around, looking surprised, and Éponine leaned over and kissed her.

 

It was soft and slightly clumsy. She thought anyone paying attention would be able to tell they’d never done it before. But it filled in a tiny empty space in the back of Éponine’s heart, cementing that that little space belonged to Cosette, to do with what she would.

 

She smiled, and pulled back. “Merry Christmas,” she said. 

 

Cosette blinked at her wildly, and Éponine suddenly felt a little awkward.

 

“You said the other day,” she explained, “I mean, that if I didn’t have a real present --”

 

“Right,” Cosette said wildly, “right,” and stood up. “I have to grab something.”

 

“Okay,” Éponine said, like an idiot, and Cosette walked very quickly towards the stairs.

 

Éponine watched as she vanished up them, and then turned back to her brother, who made a face which clearly meant  _ go talk to her or something, dummy. _

 

So Éponine stood.

 

 

Cosette was texting furiously when she walked into the room.

 

“This is working out pretty well,” Éponine said, leaning on the doorframe, and it was meant to be a joke, it really was. “Maybe we could keep it going. There’s a gym near my house that has a 40% off couples discount.”

 

And Cosette looked up, and the first thing Éponine registered was that Cosette looked  _ terrified _ , and that didn’t make any sense, unless the idea of continuing to fake-date Éponine left Cosette so horrified that she couldn’t even speak.

 

“Or,” Cosette said, “We could talk about -- I mean. Talk?”

 

_ Fuck, _ Éponine thought.

 

“Okay,” she said.

 

Cosette took a deep breath. Epoinine wondered why she felt like she was about to be dumped. They hadn’t even really been dating. 

 

(She probably took it too far. The kiss. Why did she kiss her?)

 

“I mean,” Cosette said, “I was just thinking, maybe we could do it for real?”

 

Her voice squeaked. Éponine stared at her.

 

“Cosette,” she said, and it came out sounding almost like a warning. Cosette figeted.

 

“I mean it,” she said. “I -- I want to date you.”

 

“You want to date me,” Éponine echoed, and the words didn’t register, didn’t make any sense. Cosette was always smiling and she was beautiful and she had a nice family and a nice apartment and spent her goddamn Christmases volunteering at a homeless shelter. And Éponine was a fucking mess, and her family sucked except for Gavroche, and she lived in a shithole in a shithole part of town and she liked to pretend Christmas didn’t exist. And she was --

 

“Yes,” Cosette said, and puffed out her cheeks as she sighed. It was adorable. Objectively. “I’ve had a crush on you for months, and I didn’t even ask Chetta or anyone to come with me, I just asked you first, and it’s probably gonna make you hate me because I’m the  _ worst _ and I couldn’t ask you out like a real person or anything like that but I really, really want to date you and you’re so beautiful and brave and smart and I’m acting like an idiot but --”

 

“Cosette,” Éponine said again, and she couldn’t get any other words out. There was a feeling building in her stomach, like the feeling of a roller coaster, like when you laughed and meant it. 

 

“I’m sorry. This came out all wrong.” Cosette looked miserable, wrapping her arms around herself. “I just like you so much. It makes me an idiot.”

 

A laugh bubbled out of Éponine’s throat, and she reached out to take Cosette’s hand. Cosette wrapped her fingers around Éponine’s immediately, but looked confused. 

 

“You’re laughing,” she said.

 

“You’re not an idiot,” Éponine said. “You’re beautiful, and awesome, and I can’t believe you don’t already know how much I like you.”

 

“ _ What _ ?” Cosette asked, her voice squeaking again. ‘“But you -- but I -- but --”

 

“I like you,” Éponine said. “I’ve liked you for months.”

 

“But you never  _ said _ anything,” Cosette protested.

 

“Neither did you!” Éponine said, and laughed again, and took Cosette’s other hand so she was holding both, feeling giddy, ridiculous, like a teenager in a movie. She’d never been a teenager in a movie, unless you counted the ones who smoked cigarettes and hated their lives and all that bullshit. 

 

“You’re the confident one,” Cosette said, but she was smiling now too, and looked just as giddy as Éponine felt. “You were supposed to go first. I was waiting.”

 

“That’s dumb,” Éponine said, and giggled again; she sounded like Gavroche. “Anyway, I made the first move just now, this morning.”

 

“What, kissing me in front of my father? That’s not a real kiss.”

 

“How about you give me a real kiss then?”

 

Cosette didn’t answer, and for a moment Éponine wondered if she’d taken it too far, but then Cosette was sliding her arms around Éponine’s neck and sitting down on her lap and smiling, sweet as sugar, too giddy to be wicked.

 

“If that’s how you want it,” Cosette murmured, and pressed her mouth against Éponine’s.

 

Éponine meant to say something else, something like  _ I love you _ or maybe just  _ I like you _ or something in between, but the words were lost on their way from her heart to her mouth.

 

It was all right. Her mouth was pretty occupied.

 

 

“That place you circled on your map,” Éponine asked suddenly, the next day on the train ride back, as Gavroche slept on top of Cosette’s parka, folded up like a pillow. “What was it?”

 

“We went there once,” Cosette said. “That time we got lost on the train, remember? That’s when I first realized I had a crush on you.”

 

Éponine stared at her.

 

Cosette blushed. “It’s really dumb.”

 

“You circled that?” Éponine said, and realized her heart was beating very quickly.  _ Things I want to keep forever, _ Cosette had said. 

 

“Of course I did,” Cosette said, her cheeks red. 

 

It clicked, falling into place with an ease that suggested it should have been that way all along. “You really have liked me all this time,” Éponine murmured.

 

“Did you think I was lying?”

 

“No,” Éponine said, “I just -- you’re too good to be real sometimes, you know that? I didn’t want to -- got my hopes up. In case you changed your mind.”

 

“No offense,” Cosette said, “but that’s really stupid.” She shifted closer, tucking her head onto Éponine’s shoulder. “I’m not going to change my mind.”

 

Éponine could have said anything in that moment --  _ I know that now, I know, I love you, _ anything -- but instead she just laid her head on top of Cosette’s and closed her eyes.

 

They had a whole train ride to talk about it, after all.

  
  
  



End file.
